


Desert Hero

by vega_voices



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The visitor’s lounge was silent. She’d sent her mother and Brandi home and Stan had finally given up and gone home to sleep but Mary couldn’t move. She couldn’t take off her jacket; what if she had to run out again?  She couldn’t eat – she might miss something.  So she stared at the talking head on MSNBC and missed Marshall more than Raphael and cursed herself for ever reading that god dammed letter. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Desert Hero

_**Fic - In Plain Sight (Desert Hero)**_  
 **Title:** Desert Hero  
 **Author:** [](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/profile)[**vegawriters**](http://vegawriters.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** In Plain Sight  
 **Pairing:** Definite Mary/Marshall UST; mention of Mary/Raphael  
 **Timeframe:** Post- _Trojan Horst_  
 **Rating:** Teen  
 **A/N:** As always my beta, [](http://medland.livejournal.com/profile)[**medland**](http://medland.livejournal.com/) , rocks. Mostly cause she thinks I’m awesome and oh! She doesn’t even watch the show and she loves the characters. This was begun during the Horst re-watch, and finished over a couple of days at work.  
 **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don’t own them. If I did … well … I wouldn’t need to write fic, would I? TPTB at USA and Co. collect the money, I just play near the sandbox.

 **Summary:** _The visitor’s lounge was silent. She’d sent her mother and Brandi home and Stan had finally given up and gone home to sleep but Mary couldn’t move. She couldn’t take off her jacket; what if she had to run out again? She couldn’t eat – she might miss something. So she stared at the talking head on MSNBC and missed Marshall more than Raphael and cursed herself for ever reading that god dammed letter._

The TV in the visitor’s lounge played MSNBC on mute and Mary glanced up, watching the closed captions scroll silently across the face of the commentator. One talking head to another, they all looked the same, and he spoke about some asshole of a local cop who broke some law or other and as a result, someone died.

What the fuck did they know?

The cop maybe shouldn’t have shot, but no one knew what really happened. No one but the cop. What would this guy in a three-thousand dollar suit say about her stint in the desert with a con artist and her dying partner? Because Horst lived, would Marshall be listed as a hero or was it only when someone in law enforcement died that their sacrifices in the name of civil protection were brought to light? What made the media decide someone was evil and someone was worthy of canonization?

Well, if they had any questions, she’d be the first in line to defend the sainthood of Marshall Mann.

Glancing down at her hands, Mary stared at the rust colored dried blood on her hands – Marshall’s blood. She didn’t dare to wash it away until she knew Marshall was stable. What if he needed it?

The visitor’s lounge was silent. She’d sent her mother and Brandi home and Stan had finally given up and gone home to sleep but Mary couldn’t move. She couldn’t take off her jacket; what if she had to run out again? She couldn’t eat – she might miss something. So she stared at the talking head on MSNBC and missed Marshall more than Raphael and cursed herself for ever reading that god dammed letter.

His mother’s voice haunted her. Her own reassurances played over and over in her mind. _“Marshall is going to be fine and you don’t need to come down.”_

She’d meant it. The doctors promised her. But he’d lost blood and he was still critical and she hadn’t been allowed in to see him. So she waited. And like the clips that rolled silently across the TV, showing politicians and cops and heads that talked about nothing while pretending to talk about everything, she replayed their partnership in her mind. His strength holding up her bravado. His brains filling in where she cowboyed forward. The endless battles at the shooting range where somehow, he still was a better shot; something he never let her forget even while he stood behind her, his hips pressed against her, his arms around her, as he worked with her to strengthen her shooting accuracy.

 _“You are almost too quick to react, Mary. One split second more of thought and you have a take-down shot, not just one that causes damage. When you think, you’re a kill shot.”_

She hadn’t thought today. She’d reacted. Marshall, bleeding internally, had landed a shot. She’d had the car as a shield and complete use of her faculties, and he’d landed a shot. He’d paused for a split second and even though the shooters had escaped, he’d landed a shot.

Shaking hands pressed together and she stared, still, at the rust colored blood on her hands.

He’d wanted to leave. To leave her. To leave what they had built together over the years. He wanted to walk away from his feelings.

That part hurt most of all. Walking away was her tactic not his. Had she really pushed him so far?

The answer was yes. She had pushed him that far. Far enough to not even consult her about taking a new job. A job outside of the marshal’s service. Away from her. Away from them and their friendship and she refused to allow for the possibility that him leaving might make their relationship even stronger.

She wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet.

So she waited. She wasn’t good at waiting, but she waited.

***

  
The beep of the heart monitor was all that kept her sane. It let her know he was still alive. And it distracted her from the book she was failing to read. Words swam before her, dissolving into images upon images of the bullet going into Marshall’s shoulder. He’d be okay. She knew he’d be okay, but she’d feel a hell of a lot better when he opened his eyes and started quoting Jung.

The first time they’d met, she’d wanted to jump him. So, she’d done what she’d always done, she’d mocked him and tormented him and made his life a living hell for the witness transport to New Mexico. He’d taken it in stride and then, somehow, demanded that the witsec office in Albuquerque approve a transfer.

The partnership killed her plans of fucking him through the mattress. She only screwed the partners she wanted to end it with and despite her self-destructive desires, Mary liked Marshall as a human being and didn’t feel the urge to break his heart.

Tempting though it was.

She hated to acknowledge that maybe it was her heart she’d be breaking.

Marshall had been there the night she met Raphael. Unwinding at their favorite spot, they’d watched, amused, as the Isotope starting rotation came through the door and were accosted by sports groupies who would never get any closer to fame than these AAA baseball players. Raphael had spent the night staring at her and she’d steadfastly avoided his gaze. When, two weeks later, she’d confessed to Marshall that the hot baseball player who’d been scoping her out that night was in fact, pretty good in bed, she’d dismissed his sharp intake of breath as his unspoken TMI commentary and so delighted in telling him every sordid detail.

She’d never once stopped to think that her roughshod way of rolling over his feelings actually hurt him. Now, holding his hand, all she could do was wait and apologize over and over in her mind for every wrong inflicted on him.

It never registered that her “I’m sorry’s” were whispered just loud enough for him to hear her.

“You hate saying I’m sorry,” a thin, tired voice croaked. “Anyway, you saved my life. So shut up.”

Mary jumped. He laughed and peered at her through tired, puffy eyes. Weak fingers tightened in hers and she leaned forward, gently brushing an errant lock of hair from his forehead. “Petersen Security called,” she said softly, “they want their job offer back. Don’t want nearly dead marshals.” Before the words were out she regretted them. It was his decision to make, not hers.

“They can keep it. I’m not taking the job.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d decided before I even read the letter. I just wanted to know what options were out there. I’m not leaving you, Mary.”

Her heart broke just a little more. “Don’t stay because you think the world needs protection from me, Marshall. I’ll survive.”

“Hey,” his fingers tightened in hers again, “what kind of best friend would I be if I left you?” He sucked in a painful breath and his eyes closed again. Mary stroked his head, watching the heart monitor for any signs of distress. “I love the job, Mary. And you …” his breath caught and the heart monitor spiked. Mary wanted him to finish the sentence, but instead she called for the nurse and squeezed Marshall’s clammy hand.

Her partner. Her best friend. Her hero. She wouldn’t have made it five minutes but Marshall was here, surviving. He’d be back at his desk and tormenting her with trivia before she completely recovered from this.

“Don’t change …” she heard him whisper before the sedative calmed his heart rate and sent him back to the world of insanity that had to be Marshall Mann’s unconscious state.

It was one request she couldn’t grant him. He deserved something, some acknowledgement of what he went through to be partnered to her. He deserved to know that she worshipped him as much as he did her. Biting back angry tears, Mary bent over his hand and kissed each cracked knuckle.

Tucking into the chair again, Mary pulled the thin hospital blanket around her shoulders and rested her head next to his on the pillow. His shallow breathing frightened her so she listened to the beep of the monitor, trusting the machine to lull her into her own dreamless sleep.


End file.
